


The Philosophy of a Man with a Target for a Heart

by haydenupchurch



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: M/M, also this is like supposed to be an out of order journal bs thing, but like im thinking about it, err - Freeform, idk man i just wanna write shalnark ok, it all depends really, phinks is a huge fucking meme, so i havent decided if this is going to be uvonark, uvoshal??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 01:37:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4160697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haydenupchurch/pseuds/haydenupchurch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a little shalnark journal thing. it'll have past memories (a lot of them) and maybe even future events depending on how far i take it. idk man i just love shalnark<br/>-r</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Philosophy of a Man with a Target for a Heart

**Author's Note:**

> i don't add warnings bc idk if im gonna finish the story/what im going to put in?? so like heavy apologies here dude i,,, mmm this note makes me seem illiterate but that's (thumbs up emoji)

Sometimes the days and nights of isolation get cold and tiring, and sometimes you just want them to _stop_.

Sometimes you just want to feel in place. **_Somewhere_** , with **_someone_**. Whether it's right or wrong, your morals don't matter once you've been alone for a certain period of time. It's practically surreal, it's as if you can hear, see, _touch_ the change around you. It's bright and blinding, numbing and euphoric. There's a good chance what you're doing is wrong, but this feeling overcomes you. You can't stop. You don't _want_ to stop, and maybe _that's_ why I'm in the Phantom Troupe.

Maybe at first you think about what you're doing. **_Killing someone? Never in my life would I._** Then you start to feel sick when your knife breaks skin, and then maybe you almost vomit when you see the blood steadily draining out of the incision you pressed into them. You think about it and you call yourself an _animal_ , maybe you even cry, but you don't stop. **_Why didn't I stop?_**  That one man turns to ten, and that ten to fifty.

You look in the mirror and it's no longer a human being staring back, but something else entirely. You recognize that this wasn't you, you recognize something is gone. Your innocence? **_Perhaps, this definitely wasn't the ten year old me kicking cans around in piles of rubbish._** Maybe it's your compassion, I mean it was your choice to take each victim's life. It was your choice to listen to helpless screams of the countless men, fallen to your lack of mercy. Then you realize there's a smile on your face and you begin to wonder when the line was crossed between your views of selflessness and your now moralless perspective that loomed overhead, holding your sense of right and wrong captive and distorting your thoughts to a good for nothing pile of destruction and chaos, but you take that chaos and that destruction. You take them and you hold them close, you hold them for dear life, because that's all that's left of yourself. You've been completely molded from the person you once were, and if you try to let go of that chaos and destruction you have become you know that you'll only find yourself dead under the hands of someone who _could_ handle the psychotic rampage of change.


End file.
